


The hand that feeds me

by Freedaright



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Im not sure how to tag for triggers about eating, Butt Plugs, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hand Feeding, Ice Cream, Light Angst, Like this isn't actually a PWP but it's pretty much the closest thing to it, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Porn with minimal Plot, Slow Burn, Stuffing, This is kink and fiction, Tw for disordered eating possibly, Vibrators, Weight Gain, but stiles eats a lot so be warned), chubby!Stiles, mainly just Stiles assuming things and angsting about them unnecessarily, or should that be feeders with benefits?, seriously so much chubby kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-07 00:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12829815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freedaright/pseuds/Freedaright
Summary: Stiles was always a skinny kid, but not having to run away from terrifying monsters every other week is finally starting to change that. Also, Derek’s been staring at him recently, in a way that’s less broody and more…something.Weird.ORThe chubby!stiles fic where Stiles starts deliberately stacking on weight, and Derek loves it almost as much as he loves Stiles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I’m one kinky fucker, and there just wasn’t enough chubby kink in the fandom so I had to add to it. Um…sorry? Also first time writing porn, so apologies in advance. This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written, and that’s saying something.

The thing is.

Well.

Stiles is putting on weight.

Since things have stabilised in Beacon Hills, there hasn’t been much to motivate Stiles to get fit. And since school finished, he’s now on break and that means he’s around home a lot more. Which just means he’s grazing on food pretty much 24/7. Obviously, he doesn’t really worry about it, because he’s always been on the skinny side, though up until now he hasn’t even been able to gain weight when he _tried_. Plus, he’s totally not about weight—as far as he’s concerned, weight is pretty much entirely irrelevant to how attractive he finds other people, so he kind of just doesn’t give a shit about it.

So, sure, gaining a few pounds isn’t unexpected.

Gaining this many pounds, though? Kinda not what he was thinking of. Not that he _was_ thinking, because he’s been giving his brain a well-deserved break.

And if he does think, sometimes, maybe he thinks about getting belly rubs from a certain broody werewolf. And if sometimes those thoughts end up with him flushed, sated and sweaty in his bed?

Well, that strictly between him and his right hand. And occasionally his vibrator.

*             *             *             *             *

Stiles should probably start hitting the gym, but it’s just so nice to not be running away from terrifying creatures of the night every week that he’s kind of reluctant to let go of his extra pounds just yet.

Plus, he kind of feels…hot.

Like, at first he thought he was just enjoying the food, but then he noticed he was _really_ packing it away. Like, to the point where his belly feels like it’s about to burst. The first time it happened, he’d stumbled in after pack night (and _holy god could Isaac cook_ , that chocolate layer cake was so good that Stiles had eaten half of the cake without even thinking, even though he’d eaten a whole pizza just half an hour before), and gone straight for his secret snack stash to find something to balance out the sweetness. He’d made his way quickly though an enormous bag of chips, then slowly chugged away at a beer (because _hells yeah home alone_ ). By the time he’d started on the half an apple pie from the fridge, he was panting, slumped back in his chair. He’d dragged himself out of his chair, apple pie in hand, and waddled (there’s really no other word for it) up the stairs. As he’d sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, he’d accidentally brushed his fingers against his dick and _holy shit that felt amazing_. It hit him, all at once, how turned on he was, and he’d stroked himself to orgasm, one hand on his dick and the over shoving the rest of the pie in his mouth between moans.

It was only when he’d woken up next morning, sprawled sideways with crumbs all around his mouth and come on his still distended belly, that it had occurred to him that he’d just discovered a fucking gigantic new kink to add to the collection.

*             *             *             *             *

His first semester at college is great. Like yeah, it’s stressful sometimes, but it’s also kinda great. He makes friends with a guy called Jay in his Introductory Computer Science class, who lives on campus. He and Jay end up gaming at least once a week, meaning that Stiles gets to sneak into the residential colleges and steal some of the cafeteria food, because Jay has a pretty sturdy relationship with food too. By halfway through the semester he’s befriended the kitchen manager, who always makes sure there’s ample leftovers for him, too

“Gotta make sure you don’t fade away darlin’,” she says just before mid terms, pinching him on the cheek and handing him a stack of cookies and an enormous takeaway tub or the creamiest mac and cheese Stiles has ever tasted in his goddam life. (Seriously. The first time he tried it he almost moaned.)

“Not a chance, Mrs B. Got any of that garlic bread left?”

“Only a morsel, but you’re welcome to it.” She bustles out the back, and comes back with large plastic tub full of buttery garlic bread. “Don’t forget to share it with your friend.”

“Sure thing, Mrs B!”

He finds a quiet corner of the dining hall, and manages to practically inhale the mac and cheese in 5 minutes flat, despite the enormous serving. _Technically_ , he already ate dinner before he left the flat, but Mrs B didn’t need to know that. Besides, first dinner barely touched the sides, and that was a good half hour ago. He eats about a quarter of the garlic bread too, and four of the cookies. He’s just pleasantly full when he finally hauls himself to his feet.

“Dude, you’re the best!” says Jay, when Stiles finally arrives at the dorm. “Gimme garlic bread!”

“Gotta leave some for me, man!”

“Yeah _yeah_.”

The next several hours are spent in blissful, mindless gaming. Stiles still manages to eat more than half of the leftover garlic bread. Even so, driving home, Stiles is surprised that his stomach is growling in hunger again. He pulls into the nearest Macdonalds and orders a double quarter pounder, large fries and a thickshake.

Juggling his food and his keys is tricky, but he eventually opens the apartment door to find…Derek. Sitting on their sofa. Watching _WallE_ , of all things.

“Ummmm…?”

Derek raise a hand in a backwards, half-assed wave without bothering to turn away from the TV. Stiles is nonplussed.

“Uh, are you looking for Scott, because he and Kira are at her place, and trust me, you do _not_ want to interrupt them when they’re ‘hanging out’.”

“No, I just wanted to get out of the loft.”

Stiles plops down next to him on the sofa and raises an eyebrow when Derek finally turns to look at him.

“Isaac and Boyd are both studying, and I was ‘lurking distractingly’.” Derek does finger quotes and glares at the coffee table.

Stiles is _well_ aquainted with how distracting Derek’s lurking can be. He takes a huge bight of his burger to try and smother his smirk. He offers his fries to Derek. Derek just shakes his head, and settles more comfortably back into the couch cushions.

All in all, it’s a pleasant night. It’s weird, just sitting there watching a movie with Derek, but it’s kind of nice. Easy. Plus, by the time he’s finished all his food, he’s warm, sated and flooded with that lovely, comfortable feeling he’s learned to associate with an achingly full stomach. By the time Derek leaves at one in the morning, Stiles simply settles sideways on the sofa and falls asleep right there in the living room, rubbing his aching belly absently.

*             *             *             *             *

So, yes he’d got started on the freshman 15 a little early. The thing is…it’s also less like fifteen, and more like…30. Yeah, that’s right. 30 fucking pounds. And he’s not even fully through his first semester yet. Though it’s only a couple of weeks until exams, so what _was_ eating for fun before has now turned into _omg I’m so stressed eat all the comfort food so I don’t die_. Thankfully between Scott’s wolfy appetite and Stiles’…well, crazy massive one, the flat they’re sharing near BHU is always _really_ well stocked with food. Plus it seems to have become the new drop-off point for all the wolfy baking that seems to be happening. Pack nights are still at Derek’s but all the food seems to end up with Scott and Stiles. Mostly Stiles, really. Seriously, the amount of home cooking he’s munched his way through to cope with exam stress is truly astronomical. But he just can’t resist Isaac’s cooking. Or Erica’s, for that matter.

Anyway, apparently all that deliciousness has gone somewhere, because he’s standing on the bathroom scales and they’re telling him he’s 178 pounds. Seriously. It’s not like that’s fat, not by a long shot, but considering he’s been borderline underweight for most of his life, this feels…different. Like, he can see where some of it’s gone, stored in the belly _just_ juts out in front of him, and maybe his thighs seem a little meatier, but apart from that it’s probably not too noticeable to anyone else. He checks himself out in the mirror from every angle, and _dayum_ if is booty isn’t a bit more…bangin’… than it used to be. He slaps his hand against it, and not only does that make the flesh there ripple deliciously; it feels fuckin great, too. He pictures himself getting bigger, and a wave of arousal crashes over him with almost shocking force.

He spends the afternoon stuffing his face with mini quiches, sausage rolls and peanut butter cookies. He spends the evening rubbing his belly and wishing Derek were there to do it for him. Dammit, he was trying not to do that pining thing. All the food in the world can’t drown this ridiculous unrequited crush he’s been nursing for the last three years, but fuck, sometimes it helps to numb the pain. He’s almost grateful when Scott gets home with the groceries, and he promptly skulls a litre of milk to push himself back to the edge of too full. He loves that feeling of being stretched from the inside, and the way his centre of gravity shifts as he eats more and more. He thinks of his weight, ballooning out. Maybe he can hit 190 by the end of the year.

And he’s still got Thanksgiving to look forward to.

*             *             *             *             *

All Stiles can say about Thanksgiving is that he eats a _lot_. It’s the one day he doesn’t harass his dad about eating healthy, so they both take the opportunity to really pig out. Melissa and Scott spend the day with them too, and between Melissa’s incredible cooking and the other three’s contributions from the grocery store, they all end up incredibly well fed. Stiles outdoes them all, with four helpings of mains; even Scott only has 3, and the second two are much smaller helpings than Stiles’.

He and Scott spend the afternoon alternating between napping, eating and playing Halo. Stiles can honestly say he’s never felt more content in his life.

The pack decides to have their own thanksgiving two days after official thanksgiving, which is basically just an excuse for them all to get shitfaced on wolfsbane liquor. Stiles is 100% on board with this because a) he’s all for getting drunk as fuck and b) if the others are all drunk, they might not notice how much he’s eating. Which will be _a lot_. Even though he didn’t exactly go easy at proper thanksgiving with his dad.

Derek is hosting, which is both awesome and kind of horrifying. Stiles has a feeling a lot of disapproving glaring is in his future, when he inevitably does something stupid which only Derek will know about because he’s the only one who’ll be sober enough to remember. Right now, though, Stiles is on cloud-fucking-nine because he’s here, with his pack and a shit-tonne of food and a gorgeous broody alpha in ogling distance. Life literally cannot get better than this. He takes a bite of his first hamburger and _oh my god it just got better_.

The pack isn’t paying him any attention, all too busy wolfing down their own food and teasing Scott and Kira. Stiles scoffs down his first two burgers in three minutes, before reaching for the chicken salad (much heavier on the chicken than the salad). He heaps his plate with it, quickly eating the couple of pieces that fall off the plate onto the table. He tucks in, demolishing half the plate before even looking up. When he does pause for a breath, the others are all still mucking around not paying his any attention. Boyd has cracked open the first bottle of beer, and the others are all clamouring raucously over the wolfsbane vodka. He glances over at Derek, to find that the guy is…staring right at him. Stiles gulps down his mouthful of chicken with difficulty.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

Derek seems to snap out of his weird stare-y face, and defaults back to his glare-y face. Ah, there’s the Sourwolf he knows and lo—LIKES! Likes. No overly-attached feelings here, no sir!

“No.” Derek looks pissed, which means he feels uncomfortable. Weird. Stiles shrugs grabs a (non-wolfsbane) beer from the tub beside him, and goes back to his chicken.

By the time the others have finished their seconds, Stiles has eaten another half a plate of chicken, this time with a large serving of a creamy pasta bake on the side, three bread rolls and huge slice of a vegetable casserole smothered in mozzarella cheese. He’s also finished his beer. He’s full—not quite to bursting, but pretty close—when Derek pushes the bowl of fried samosas towards him. He’s not looking at Stiles, seemingly engrossed in what Cora is telling Isaac about working at the wildlife sanctuary, but as Stiles watches, he pushes the bowl closer. Which is weird. It’s weird, right? But Stiles is not one to turn down food, so he grabs three, and stuffs the first in his mouth.

They’re delicious, but…yeah. He’s definitely beyond full now. His belly is beginning to strain slightly against his overlarge shirt (selected because he thought it would hide him best) and _oh god_. As he finishes the last one, the slight tickle of the fabric over his happy trail jolts his low-level arousal into more dangerous might-pop-an-inappropriate-boner-at-the-table territory. To hide his face, he ducks down to grab another beer from the tub, but the movement jostles his stomach, forcing him to spread his legs to make room for his belly, which just makes his shorts brush against his dick. He lets out a tiny, involuntary moan, not loud enough for anyone to notice, but suddenly there’s a crash. He straightens up, to see that Derek has knocked over his wine glass. Derek ears are flushed an adorable shade of pink.

“How’s the alpha reflexes going there, Derek?” smirks Isaac, flicking a pea at him. Derek just growls and Isaac turns his attention back to Cora, still smirking.

Derek avoids his eye for the rest of the night and Stiles eats his feelings by eating far too much desert. He only just manages to escape the loft without moaning or being sick, and when he gets home, he spends a solid half hour massaging his belly. When he falls asleep, he dreams of Derek watching him as he eats an entire turkey, and giving him a belly rub and blow job afterwards.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles’ holidays are mainly spend working, having lunch with Dad and gaming in his and Scott’s apartment while texting Derek. It’s not exactly productive, but really, that’s the whole point of holidays. It’s just before school starts back after the break, and Stiles is determined to take full advantage of his last bit of freedom before assessments start piling up again. He’s worked pretty much non-stop at the grocery store for the last three days, and doesn’t have another shift till next week, so he’s cashed up and fancy free. What’s more, Scott and Kira are away on a romantic getaway, so he has the whole flat to himself.

And he knows _exactly_ what he’s going to do.

He’s got everything set out on the coffee table in front of the TV. Twinkies, Cheetos, cakes and bread rolls from the bakery section, and a big bowl of creamy tomato soup. There’s 2L of milk, a tub of icecream and a can of whipped cream in the fridge, too. He’s also got a stack of takeout menus in easy reach, just in case.

First things first, though.

He strips off his sweatpants (no underwear because _freedom_ ) and strokes his dick, just starting to get himself worked up before grabbing his lube from where he’s put it on the edge of the coffee table and dribbling it onto his fingers. Right hand tugging at his dick, he slides his left back, brushing over his perineum ( _hnnnng_ ) and gently teasing at his asshole with his fingers. He pushes the first in, just by an inch or so, and lets out a shuddery breath. Teasing himself like this never fails to make his spine feel like jelly, like he’s melting and tingling all over. He works the finger in and out a little, circling the rim in a way that makes him keen despite the awkward angle. As he adds the second the second with a slight gasp, he wishes (not for the first time) that it was Derek’s fingers making him fall apart, rather than his own. Usually he’d dismiss those thoughts, but this time, he lets himself imagine it: Derek’s large hands, rubbing and thrusting, maybe caressing his belly too, or feeding him until he can barely move, until he has to be fucked, or else riding Derek gently so as not to jostle his belly too much, still eating as he clenches around the alpha’s dick, big and hot inside him…

He’s well stretched on four fingers now, and panting heavily, sweat dripping down his face. Again, he reaches across to the coffee table, this time grabbing a reasonably large butt plug. He lubes it up, asshole clenching where it’s now empty of his fingers, leans back, and places it against the small pucker of flesh. The cool plastic makes him whine, so he pushes it in in one thrust. He cries out a little—he maybe should have eased himself into that—but almost immediately the plug settles comfortably, flared base flush against his skin. He has to take a moment then because _holy god_ it feels bigger than last time he used it, which was a while ago, but it feels fucking amazing. He just feels so… _full_. Now all he has to do is fill himself in the other sense, too.

Sitting up is a struggle, partially because his belly has got to the point where it’s weighing him down, even when empty, and partially because the plug shifts inside him as he moves, setting his nerve endings to a low smouldering that makes him moan again. He reaches for the bowl of soup, wriggling forward in a way that has his ass fluttering pleasantly, and forgoes the spoon, picking up the huge bowl and lifting it to his mouth. The soup is hot and thick, hearty but without too much salt, and he drains half the bowl without stopping to breathe. When he does, he reaches for the remote, and settles in for an afternoon and evening of mindless gluttony and binge watching _Parks and Rec_. Despite the warmth of the soup, he’s feeling a little chilly, so he pulls his sweatpants back on with difficulty, enjoying the brush of the fabric against his dick.

He finishes the soup easily. Needing something plain to wash his pallet, he washes his hands and swallows several mouthfuls of whipped cream from the fridge. Settling back down on the sofa with a groan (seriously, this plug just makes everything better), he makes a start on the bread rolls, also settling one of the cakes next to him on the sofa for easy access. Over the next two episodes he eats 4 bread rolls and half of the cake, then two packets of Cheetos and three Twinkies. He’s feeling pretty great, stuffed full, but it’s getting close to dinner time and he’s belatedly realised there’s not much in the way of savoury or dinner food in his collection. Time to order in.

By the time his Thai order arrives 25 minutes later, he’s drunk a litre of the milk and finished off the second half of that cake. He’s 75% sure the delivery girl was staring at his belly where it’s straining at his shirt when he answered the door, but he kind of doesn’t give a shit because he’s feeling full and round and more turned on than he can remember being in a long time. The plug is giving him just the right amount of pressure, and he wriggles in a circular motion in his seat as he tucks into the huge container of Pad Thai.

So…that was a lot of food he ordered. He slows right down as he gets hallway through the noodles, but he’s in no rush. The aim tonight is to remain as constantly full as possible. It takes him another three episodes of Parks and Rec before he finishes it all, at which point he takes a break (and takes a leak). With more room in his belly now, he detours via the kitchen to grab the whipped cream and ice cream, waddling the whole way through a combination of sheer overfullness and the incredible sensation of the plug in his ass. Sinking into the sofa cushions once again, he gives in to the sensation, clenching and unclenching around the (no longer quite satisfyingly big enough) intrusion in is ass.

He’s just starting to get properly worked up, whipped cream can in one hand and the other spooning icecream straight from the tub, when the window slides open and Derek climbs in.

“Holy fucking shit!!” He scrambles to try and sit in a more dignified way, but before he can do more than just shift enough to make his fat thighs wobble and the plug shift in his ass, Derek is right in front of him. “Warn a guy, would you?!?!”

“Sorry,” says, Derek, not sounding sorry in the slightest, “I was baking and I accidentally cooked too many cupcakes. Thought you might want some.”

“You were _baking_?”

“Yes.”

“ _You_ were baking?”

“Yes, Stiles. I bake.” Derek is looking kind of pissed.

“But _cupcakes_?!”

“Yes, cupcakes. Do you want them or not?”

“Uhhh, duh. Obviousl—” Stlies’ words are cut off by a loud burp. He feels his cheeks turning bright red. “Uh, sorry.” But Derek doesn’t seem to be paying attention. His eyes are sweeping over the empty containers and crumbs strewn all around Stiles. His eyes zero in on Stiles’ stomach. Stiles tries to cover it up by pulling his t-shirt down and trying to sit up a bit, but that just makes the bulge more obvious and shifts the plug so it _just_ grazes over his prostate. He struggles bite back a moan, and jerks forward to relieve the pressure.

When he looks at Derek again, Derek’s face is carefully impassive, but his voice sounds… _weird_ when he says “Unless you’ve had enough already?”

“No way, man, I’ll just, uhhh—” he dumps the ice cream on the table and shoves aside the empty packets and bowls from earlier, piling them up near the lube which _he’s belatedly realised is still on the table, shit!!_ He dumps the bread packet on top of it, hoping that Derek won’t notice, and struggling not to whimper as the plug teases his hole again. “Hope you don’t mind if I just finish this first though?” Because dammit if Derek is going to stop him from having the gluttonous night in he was planning.

Derek just shakes his head. “Mind if I stay?”

“What?”

“If I stay. Here. Just for a couple of hours.” Stiles gestures in a ‘go on’ fashion and Derek huffs. “Cora and Isaac are at the loft. Cora told me to make myself scarce, and I’m not stupid enough to object.”

“Ah, right.” Stiles tries to shuffle across the sofa to make room, but it’s _so damn hard_. Speaking of hard, his sweats are next to useless in hiding the _situation_ he’s sporting. He accidentally lets out a moan as he manages to pull himself up on the arm of the sofa and settles back in the cushions. To cover his embarrassment, he picks up the ice cream and starts spooning it into his mouth again as Derek perches just a _little_ too close to the middle of the sofa. The ice cream tastes a lot like ‘eating his feelings’ because this is so close, _so close_ , to what he wants, what he can’t have. He shoves the heaped spoon into his mouth vindictively. Whatever. He’s going to enjoy this while he can.

Derek seems pretty absorbed in Ben and Leslie talking on screen, so Stiles takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of the alpha, slightly tense (but still a lot more relaxed than usual) sitting so close to him. His biceps are bulging in the sleeves of his Henley, and his stubble just makes Stiles itch to know what stubble burn would feel like on his thighs. He wants to know what it would feel like to fall asleep next to Derek, full and bloated and sated, and wake up to lazy belly rubs in the morning. _Ergh_. It’s all so far out of reach but he can’t help but wish it were even possible.

All this pining while staring at Derek has meant he’s demolished three-quarters of the ice cream without even realising. Only when he breathes and there’s a loud gurgle from his stomach does he realise just how full he is. Derek glances at him.

“Need anything?”

“Nah, just…” Stiles stifles a burp, “I’ll try a cupcake when I’ve finished this.”

Derek nods and settles back into the cushions a little more, bringing him a bit closer again to Stiles.

Derek’s non-judgement of his eating habits continues to be surprising to Stiles, but he’s grateful nonetheless. He takes a breather for a couple of minutes while he waits for the remaining ice cream to melt, rubbing his belly a little with his left hand so Derek can’t see. He has to supress a couple more burps and _oh god_ , he feels so fucking full. It’s wonderful and warm, seeming to light a flame in him that spreads from his stuffed belly to his soft nipples, right down to his dick and his ass where the plug still sits, giving lovely, gentle _pressure_. He finally lifts the container to his lips and chugs the last of the ice cream, falling back with a sigh when he’s done. He’d be quite happy to fall asleep right here, right now, but there’s still the cupcakes to get through. Despite his full gut, he sits up and reaches for the first of the cupcakes.

Derek looks up as Stiles lurches forward. He puts a steadying hand behind Stiles’ back as he struggles to sit up properly, and Stiles can feel the heat of his large hand through his t-shirt. It kicks his level of arousal up another notch, and makes it even harder to breathe. Almost hoping to distract himself, he grabs a cupcake and take a large bite. Flavour spills over his tongue, so strong and seductive that he almost inhales the entire thing in one go, despite how packed full his belly is. It’s rich and dark and chocolatey, and Derek has cut out the centre in each of them and filled with cream before replacing the core, so that when Stiles bites into it, the cream spills into his mouth and forces him to eat more. He grabs a second before making himself comfortable on the sofa again.

Stiles was full before, but that’s _nothing_ to what he is right now. His shirt is straining under the pressure from his belly, and yet he keeps eating his way through each of the cupcakes. He’s pretty sure he’s never felt so turned on by food in his life. After the fourth cupcake, he starts to have trouble sitting up enough to reach the next one. He _just_ manages it (though he has to take a moment to breathe after, both because reaching for it winded him and because it changed the angle of the plug to a delicious new position), but when he goes to reach for the sixth, he can’t quite manage it, forced back into the sofa cushions by his belly. Derek glances over at him in question. Stiles can feel his face heating.

“Can’t reach.”

“I’ll get it.”

Derek grabs the cupcake and peels the paper pan off it before handing it to Stiles. Stiles takes it gratefully, but he’s really starting to falter. He takes five whole minutes to get through it, and he reaches up to his mouth with increasing difficulty with each bite. His limbs are starting to feel heavy and tired, but he doesn’t want to stop eating quite yet. He’s going to blame what he does next on how late it is.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you get me another?”

Derek gets another, the second last one, and goes to hand it to Stiles, but Stiles places a hand on his arm and adds “Feed it to me?”

Stiles could have sworn Derek’s eyes flicker red for a second, but it’s gone before he can get a second look. He’s half expecting Derek to judge him, or make some comment on his gluttony, but he doesn’t. Instead, he feeds the cupcake, oh so gently, into Stiles’ mouth. As he opens his mouth to take a bite, his lips slightly brush against Derek’s fingers, and as he bites down, cream oozes out everywhere.

This is hands down the most erotic experience of Stiles’ life. Parks and Rec is still playing quietly in the background, but neither of them are paying any attention. Derek lifts the cupcake to Stiles’ lips every time he finishes a mouthful, and by the time he’s eaten it all, Stiles feels like he’s about to burst. His gut sits heavily, an enormous mound stretched taut and hot, with no room left for more.

 _But there’s still one more cupcake_.

Stiles feels almost drunk on the mass of food inside him. He is just gathering the strength to ask for the last one, but Derek is already reaching for it. The only way Stiles is going to get through it is if he stuffs it in fast.

“Imma try to eat this one quickly. Can you..?” Derek just nods, and without preamble, shoves it into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles jerks back a little in surprise, slipping down the sofa, which shifts the plug that he’d almost forgotten was there in the most delicious rub of friction. That, in combination with the rich chocolate and cream stuffing his mouth and the heat of Derek sitting beside him, has him moaning into Derek’s hand before he can stop himself. Derek responds by trying to push the cupcake further into his mouth, and Stiles has no choice but to chew and swallow rapidly so he can breathe. He just keeps biting and chewing, until finally, _finally_ , the cupcake is gone. Derek’s hand is covered in cream, and without thinking, Stiles licks it, then sucks his index finger into his mouth. He’s too far gone to stop himself from closing his eyes and moaning because seriously, he’s living out his fantasy right now. Derek’s other fingers brush against is lips, and he opens his mouth wider to clean them with his tongue.

He can hear Derek drawing in a shaky breath

“Uhhmm…did you enjoy that?”

“No, I frequently stuff myself full of food that I _don’t_ like, just for kicks.” Even in his almost-too-aroused-to-function, beached whale state, Stiles is still a sarcastic little shit. He pulls his best _bitch please_ face, “Of course I fucking enjoyed it. Ten out of ten, would eat your baking again.”

Derek looks rather pleased with himself. “I should get home.” He seems reluctant. “Maybe I’ll try out some of my other baking on you sometime?”

“I mean, sure, dude. Drop by any time, particularly if you’ve been baking. I might even forgive you for always coming in through the window if you start turning up with food as bribery.” says Stiles breathily, suppressing another burp and a moan.

Derek nods, and gets to his feet slowly. “Okay. Well…” he seems like he might be about to say something else, but then he just shakes his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. Stiles might be imagining it, but the look Derek gives him just before he climbs back out the window looks kind of…heated? He might be projecting though, because _holy god_ he needs to get off right the fuck now.

Stiles has to force himself to wait until he hears the Camaro start before finally jerking his sweats down and stroking his dick. It takes him less than a minute, and it’s all he can do to stay awake long enough to finally pull the plug out of his ass before he falls asleep right there on the sofa.


	3. Chapter 3

So, yeah, Stiles has had a crush on Derek since forever, but it’s suddenly a _whole_ lot more serious. Before, he’d accepted that Derek was a) hot as fuck, and b) had a sense of humour that is Stiles’ number one turn-on in another person; beyond that, it was pretty much hopeless, so he was mostly content just to appreciate from afar and occasionally jerk off the thoughts of those _insane_ biceps. It had got a _little_ harder once he’d started calling and texting Stiles semi-frequently when Stiles started college, but he’s good at compartmentalising, and a fuckin _pro_ at denial.

The problem is, now that they’re not spending every waking moment just trying to stay alive, Stiles has more time to think about it, and Derek, it seems, has more time on his hands to hang out with Stiles. Which, yeah. Stiles is surprised at first that Derek is voluntarily choosing to spend time with him, but he’s _definitely_ not going to complain, particularly when Derek offers to pay most of the time at the various diners and cafes they start catching up at around town. They go for milkshakes one week, and for Indian another, and before he knows it he and Derek are _friends_. Like, really good friends. They’re bitingly sarcastic to each other a lot of the time, but Derek has these moments of vulnerability sometimes, where he tells Stiles about Laura and life before the fire, and Stiles sometimes talks about how worried he is about his dad, and how he has no idea what kind of job he’s heading for. The trust that they’ve reluctantly built up over the last few years is finally evolving into something more friendly, more tangible, and as much as Stiles loves it, he finds himself doing some of the most aggressive pining known to mankind.

 It kinda sucks. But he wouldn’t give up his new friendship with Derek for the world.

*             *             *             *             *

Months later, and Stiles is back to the grind at college. The academic year is nearly over and he _really_ needs to let off some steam. Plus, he’s kind of plateaued at 225 pounds in the last few weeks, (not helped by Derek having to cancel on one of their weekly diner catch-ups), so it seems like a great idea to try stuffing himself full again, with the added stimulation of a butt plug. _Vibrating_ , this time. Stiles is so ready for this, that he actually skips out on his Friday lectures to go and buy more food and get started early. This was going to be _great_.

‘Going to be’ being the operative phrase, because yet a-fucking-gain, Derek turns up just as Stiles is starting to get into it. He’d just set the vibrator on low, before remembering he had more food to get from the fridge. When he returns to the living room, there’s a smear of dirt on the window sill, and Derek’s just sitting right there the sofa like he owns the place. It’s testament to how much more time he’s been spending with Derek that he only squeaks a little bit in surprise. Besides, what is it with Derek turning up unannounced when he’s trying to stuff himself from both ends? No offence, but the alpha makes it about 5 million times harder to ignore how aroused he is. And, _fuck_ , he’d left the remote lying on the arm of the sofa while he went to get the hot pockets from the kitchen, and now Derek is sitting almost on top of it.

“Stiles.”

“Heya, Derek. What’s up?” The vibrator is buzzing slightly in his ass, just low enough that he can nearly speak normally. It’s going to be a fucking struggle if he has to keep this up for long though.

“Haven’t seen you for a bit. Want to watch _The 100_?”

Stiles chooses not to question him on the choice of show, because _more pressing issues_ , but he’s going to have to bring that up at a later date. “Uhh…sure. Dude, you’re lucky I don’t have a social life, you might have had to watch it by yourself.”

“I would be so lucky.”

Stiles sits down heavily on the sofa and pokes his tongue out, and Derek pretends to glare at him. _God_ , he loves this bastard.

“Hey, can you pass me that remote?” Stiles misses casual by about a mile, but Derek doesn’t seem to notice.

Derek picks up the remote obligingly but instead of passing it to Stiles he seems to assume that it’s for the TV, and presses the plus button. The vibrator in Stiles’ ass turns up a notch which Stiles tries to ignore but it’s really fucking hard. “Is that better?”

“Uh, what? No, can you just pass it to me?”

Derek tries hitting the plus again a couple of times, and says “It’s not turning up, I think the battery’s de—” but suddenly stops, staring at Stiles, who has arched up and let out a moan, pinned back into the cushions by his own weight, clutching at himself as he moans around the now throbbing plug in his ass.

“Stiles, what’s—“

“Just…give me….hnnnng—” he tries to lean up and grab it, but that pushes to plug to graze his prostate and “— _oh god_ , just…give!”

Derek finally gives it to him, and he jams his thumb on the off button. He lies there, panting for a second, feeling the heat rise in his face as the embarrassment that was temporarily surpressed by arousal returns in full force.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles stares at Derek in shock for a second, because since when does Derek express concern for his well-being. To be fair, though, Stiles probably looked like he’d been having a fit or something.

“Uh yeah I just…uhhh…”

Derek leans forward and places a hand on his arm, veins turning black as he tries to siphon off pain. He frowns. “You don’t seem to be hurting. What’s going on?”

Seriously, _kill Stiles now_. But if he’s going down, it may as well be in a blaze of glory.

“Ergh, fine, but you’re gonna regret asking. I have a vibrator in my ass, okay?! I like stuffing myself with food and getting off, but for some reason _you always turn up_ and is it _really_ too much to ask that I get off without you coming and brooding in a way that makes me want to be fed by you until I’m stuffed and then for you to fuck me?! I mean, I know there’s no chance of that happening, but can you, like, not rub it in my fucking face?!”

And _oh god_ he did not mean to say most of that. Damned brain to mouth filter!

Derek is staring at him, mouth hanging open slightly. Finally, he clears his throat. “And, uh, if I would like that too? How would we…proceed?”

_Wait, what?!_

“Wait, what?!”

“You…you keep eating. And…I like it. You’re getting so much softer. And wider. I want to stuff you full with food and keep feeding you while you ride my cock.” Derek blinks, like he can’t quite believe he said that.

Stiles just sits there, mouth hanging open for several moments. “Yes! Please! Immediately. All the yes.”

Derek smiles at him. Fucking _shyly_. Erghhhh, Stiles is so fucked.

“Here, big guy.” He shoves a packet of cookies at Derek. “Go for your life.”

“Not sure I’m the ‘big guy’ in this situation,” says Derek, smirking a little and shuffling closer to Stiles until he’s all up in his business. Like, seriously up in his business. His thigh is now pressed right along Stiles’, and the heat radiating from it makes Stiles want to sigh in pleasure. He opens the packet and holds the first cookie up to Stiles’ mouth. Stiles considers trying to backchat him, but settles in favour of sitting back and taking the whole cookie in his mouth instead.

He manages seven cookies before he begins to tire of the sweetness. He bats at Derek’s arm and gestures at the pizza instead. Derek carefully picks up the box and lifts the first slice, letting the strings of cheese trail over Stiles’ chin. Stiles darts his tongue out to pull them in, and Derek’s eyes zero in on his mouth. With Derek’s eyes still on him, he finishes the slice and stifles a small burp. Derek is more enthusiastic with the next slice, pushing it into Stiles’ mouth almost before he finishes each mouthful. After the fourth slice, he grabs Derek’s wrist so he can take a breath. Derek’s skin is hot and smooth, and he feels a slight spike in his level of arousal.

“If you keep feeding me like this, I'm gonna get fat.”

“You’re already well on the way. Never thought you’d even be able to put this much on. How much do you weigh now?”

“Errr…I don’t know, actually. I’ve been having trouble getting above 225 pounds, but I haven’t checked in a few days.”

“225?” Derek sounds strangled. “And you used to be so skinny.”

“147 pounds, back in the day.”

“ _Fuck_ , never thought you’d manage this. So quickly too. All that…fat. _So_ hot.” He leans in even closer, pressing their arms close together.

“S’hard. To stay motivated. It’ll be a lot easier to…gain, if you’re helping me.” His gaze drops as Derek’s breath ghosts along his cheek.

“I think I can manage that,” says Derek, and he finally leans in for a kiss.

It’s soft and hot and honestly even better that Stiles imagined it would be. Derek’s stubble grates against him in delicious friction that has him pushing forward. The plug, sitting still in his ass, teases a little and he opens his mouth the gasp at the sensation, which Derek takes as an opportunity to delve in with his tongue. Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth and winds his arms around behind Derek’s neck to pull him in closer. Derek responds by sliding a hand over Stiles’ belly and shaking it gently. Stiles throws his head back (which, yeah, is poorly planned, because that means he can’t suck on Derek’s tongue any more), but Derek responds by trailing his mouth down Stiles’ neck and sucking a series of marks there, still rubbing and jiggling at Stiles’ belly with one hand. With his other hand, he gropes for the pizza box, and finally fumbles a slice to Stiles’ mouth. Stiles lunges for it, managing to take several large bites in spite of Derek’s continued assault on his neck, and finishes most of that slice before Derek draws away, looking a little frustrated.

“I can't keep feeding you when I want to blow you.”

Stiles whines

“I’ve got an idea. Keep feeding yourself the last of that pizza, and I'll give you what you want.” He stands up and heads for the kitchen.

“Be quick, Der! _Please_.’ And wow, Stiles never knew he’d stoop to begging so quickly, but okay. Derek seems to like it though, because his pace increases and soon he’s pulling out ingredients from all over the kitchen and is mixing up the thickest, creamiest, most fattening shake Stiles has ever seen. He barely even bothers with milk, only tipping about half a cup of full fat in; the rest is a combination of cream, ice cream, and sweetened condensed milk. He must add some other things too, but Stiles gets distracted when Derek hits one of the buttons on the remote, which sets the plug to a low, pulsing throb in his ass.

“Dereeeek,” Stiles whines, arching up.

“Eat up.”

Stiles does so, obediently. He’s on the second last slice of pizza, and when he finishes it, Derek nods approvingly and turns the vibrator up a notch. Stiles moans at the sensation, rocking back and forth, trying to get it on just the right angle.

“Just one more. Eat it for me?”

Stiles picks it up. He folds it in half and shoves as much as he can into his mouth at once, because dammit, the sooner he finishes it, the sooner Derek’s mouth will be on him. He’s just swallowing the last mouthful when Derek returns to the sofa, jug in hand. He hands it to Stiles, and almost immediately drops to his knees. Derek nuzzles into Stiles’ belly with enthusiasm, massaging it with both hands and jiggling it softly. Stiles gasps and throws his head back.

“Drink.” Derek’s voice is low and warm. Stiles lifts the jug to his mouth and drinks. The coolness of the ice cream helps to soothe the feeling of being overheated, of too many sensations on his skin, and it slides down to sit heavily in his gut. He can almost feel his belly expanding, pushing out, and the idea of him growing under Derek’s guidance has him moaning again, even as he continues to gulp at the thick, creamy shake. Derek nuzzles approvingly into Stiles’ belly button, and licks when Stiles lets out a moan at the feeling of the first quarter of the shake disappearing down his throat.

“Keep going. You can fuck my mouth when you finish it.”

And if _that_ isn’t motivational, he doesn’t know what is. Derek licks and nuzzles his way down to Stiles’ dick, before taking the tip in his mouth. Stiles has to stop drinking for a moment because _holy god that feels incredible_. Derek pulls off with a pop and smirks at him, until Stiles lifts the jug to his lips once more. He continues to drink while Derek slathers his dick in saliva and takes more of it in his mouth, teasing at Stiles’ balls with one hand. Stiles skulls down to the halfway mark, but has to come up for air (and to burp loudly), which Derek seems to like because he abandons his caressing of Stiles’ balls to change the setting on the vibrator. What had been a low throbbing is now a building thrum of pressure, increasing in intensity until it’s almost too much and then dropping down to nothing again. Stiles lets out another moan, which turns into another burp. Derek reaches up with his free hand to rub Stiles’ belly, and Stiles begins to drink again.

He has to take two more breaks, but finally, he’s down to the last couple of mouthfuls. He feels impossibly full, and his body is begging for the release of orgasm. Derek has abandoned his dick for the time being, and is rubbing Stiles’ belly with both hands, gently pushing it up and letting it drop back to where it’s resting in Stiles’ lap. The sensation makes him feel unmoored and desperate, but also isn’t _enough_.

“ _Derek_.” Stiles knows he sounds pathetic, begging like this, but Derek seems to like it because his eyes flash red for the briefest second.

“Yes?”

“ _Please._ ” He’s rocking back and forth, trying to get the sensation of the vibrator in his ass to be enough, but he can’t.

“Do you need me to help?” Derek gestures to the jug.

“Yes, _please_ , anything. I’ll do anything. I just. Need to. Come. _Derek_.” He moans as the vibrator brushes his prostate, but when he tries to do it again, he can’t find it.

Derek takes the jug from Stiles and carefully lifts it to Stiles’ lips. He opens his mouth and the last three mouthfuls fill his cheeks and slide down his throat. He feels like he’ll burst as the last drop finally slips smoothly from the jug.

As soon as Stiles is finished, Derek finally, _finally_ , takes his dick back into his mouth, and Stiles scrabbles at the sofa desperately to try and find purchase. Derek just keeps taking it in, inch by inch, until Stiles can feel the head of his dick hit the back of Derek’s throat. He can _feel_ it fluttering around him, as Derek pauses for a moment, then slides back until all he has in his mouth is the tip. This time he sinks down a little faster, pressing a button on the remote as he does so that has Stiles twitching and moaning in pleasure. Stiles doesn't have anything to do with his hands anymore, so he tentatively threads his fingers through Derek’s thick, dark hair. The satisfied moan Derek lets out at that is enough to have Stiles thrusting (not tentatively at all) into Derek’s mouth. Derek’s hands flutter over Stiles’ thighs as he fucks Derek’s mouth, stroking, caressing, and finally, pinching them in a movement that has Stiles thrusting forward and emptying his load down Derek’s throat with a cry of pleasure. Derek swallows it all, then pulls off, panting, and turns off the vibrator. He clambers to his feet and collapses onto the sofa, aggressively spooning Stiles and resting his chin on Stiles’ shoulder.

“Let’s do that again sometime.” _Oh my god_ , Derek’s _voice_. It’s rough and raw and the sexiest damn thing Stiles has ever heard. He can literally feel his dick trying to get hard again, though it’s failing spectacularly.

“Yeah? Feed and fuck, sounds good to me.” He feels so comfortable and sated, and in this state of post-coital bliss, he lets himself be hopeful that maybe Derek wants a Relationship with a capital R out of this.

Derek nuzzles his way up Stiles’ neck and hums approvingly.

Stiles tries not to be disappointed that Derek didn’t contradict him by asking him out. He covers his disappointment as best he can. “Do you want me to, uhhh…reciprocate?”

“What?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Can I blow you, is what I’m saying.”

Derek quirks an eyebrow, but his eyes flash red again. “Are you sure you have room? Because you don’t seem like the kind of guy who doesn’t swallow.”

Stiles licks his lips as he struggles to slither off the sofa in what he hopes is a sexy way. “You’re right about that.” And he tugs at the zipper of Derek’s jeans.

*             *             *             *             *

“Sooo…you and Derek?”

Stiles was kind of expecting this to happen, but he still has no idea how to address it. And he really doesn’t want to address it here, in the corner booth of his favourite diner. Diners are sacred, dammit!

“Uhhh, what about us?”

“So there’s an ‘us’?”

“Umm…no?”

Lydia looks at him quizzically. “There’s _something_ going on, I know that much.”

Stiles shoves another huge chunk of pancake in his mouth to avoid answering.

“ _Stiles_.”

“Erfgh, fine.” He swallows. “So, there may have been an…incident. He may have, uhh…walked in on me. When I was getting off. Kind of. And he may have offered to assist me.”

“Then why don’t you look happy? Last I checked, your long-term crush telling you they want to have sex with you is cause for celebration.”

“He, err…I think it’s just a, uhh… _physical_ …thing.”

Lydia levels him with a look. “Are you telling me you’ve agreed to be friends with benefits with the guy you’ve been half in love with for the last four years?”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, it’s more like feeder with benefits, but yeah. Not my best idea.” He sighs. “Just… I dunno. I got sick of not having anyone, and even if this isn’t exactly what I want, it’s still better than nothing, right?”

“Wrong. You need to either get out, or tell him how you feel. I’m not going to stand by and watch this destroy you. Besides, I have a funny feeling he may reciprocate.”

“In my dreams! But I can compartmentalise.” Lydia raises a perfectly manicured brow at him. “Or…well, I can’t. But the sex is amazing and the food is amazing, and we get to hang out all the time. We’re _friends_ now. It’s kind of awesome, even if he doesn’t feel the same way about me. We pretty much do all the same things that a couple would do anyway. And I don’t want to ruin that.”

Lydia looks like she’d like to argue further, but refrains, for which Stiles is devoutly thankful. He changes the subject to Lydia’s latest fight with Jackson, and under cover of the tirade that that unleashes, manages to finish two milkshakes and another enormous stack of pancakes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be the last, folks :) so sorry about this one being a bit short.  
> Also i may come back and edit this to make it more cohesive at some point, but no promises.  
> Enjoy :)

Stiles and Derek have been getting together pretty much every weekend since the _incident_ , and boy oh boy is Stiles seeing results. He’d been stacking on pounds at a pretty impressive rate anyway (at least before he plateaued), but suddenly having a regular once a week in-person binge that involves being force fed beyond the point where he literally cannot stand up by himself? It’s really doing wonders for his belly. And that’s _on top_ of the weekly diner catch-ups he and Derek have been doing for the last few months. He’s managing to eat more than he ever could binging by himself, and there’s the added bonus of being able to fit in even more at other times now because of his increased stomach capacity. Not to mention that he’s now having sex on the regular with the hottest dude he knows. In short: sign him the fuck up.

Most times they eat out, Derek ordering plates and plates of food and staring at Stiles hungrily as he devours it all. Afterwards they often go back to one of their apartments, where Stiles lays back and gets belly rubs, which almost always lead to sex. It’s _awesome_ , but after a few weeks Stiles finds himself getting peckish again only a few hours later. When he mentions this to Derek, Derek’s caring instincts kick in and he immediately sets to work in the kitchen, cooking up an enormous omelette. Well, almost immediately. He may rim Stiles enthusiastically first. Eh, semantics.

In their fifth week of this routine, Stiles is too tired to go out, so they just order Indian and stay in for the night. It’s actually…nice. Really nice. Derek eats what Stiles couldn’t finish, and gives him a belly rub for half an hour while they watch TV and wait for Stiles to have enough room for dessert. He’s now playing backrest for Stiles, propping him against his chest as he spoon feeds him pie. They’re watching something on TV, but Stiles isn’t really sure what anymore because he’s so sleepy. The pie is sitting heavy in his gut, with only one more slice to be eaten, and he’s surrounded by the warm, comforting smell of Derek. This is literally his dream come true. Derek is massaging his belly gently with his other hand, rubbing in low circular motions that have Stiles sighing and relaxing back even more heavily into his chest, which makes Derek huff out a little laugh.

“Just one more, babe.”

Stiles raises and eyebrow, even though Derek won’t be able to see it. “Babe?”

“Uh, is that not okay?” Derek just sounds awkward now, and dammit Stiles should have just let that go.

He goes for a cover-up. “Just, ‘babe’? Makes me sound small. I wouldn’t exactly call myself small anymore. Would you?”

Derek relaxes a little. “I guess not.“ He continues to rub Stiles’ belly, his hand inching further and further down until he’s lifting Stiles’ belly gently and letting it fall back into his lap with a hearty jiggle. “But you should tell me if I call you something you don’t like. Or if I _do_ something you don’t like. I want you to be…comfortable.”

Stiles isn’t really sure what to say to that, and is distracted anyway at the thought of how perfect Derek would be as a boyfriend. A _proper_ boyfriend. He’s trying not to pine, but failing spectacularly, because this is so close to being what he wants; just throw in a couple of ‘I love you’-s and they’d be there. They already hang out all the time and trust each other and fuck and…ergh. This was a terrible idea. Lydia was right. But Stiles sure as hell isn’t going to end it. He pushes down the feeling rising in his chest, an opens he mouth for another spoonful of pie.

The rest of the evening is perfect. Derek gives Stiles a slow, lazy hand job that makes his toes curl in pleasure, and then helps him to bed before climbing in next to him.

He falls asleep in Derek’s arms, wishing—hoping—that it could be like this for real.

*             *             *             *             *

It’s properly summer, and everyone seems keen to head for the beach. They also, however, seem keen to discuss their ‘summer bods’, which Stiles has approximately zero interest in because he has just managed to crack 240 pounds.

Stiles is absolutely comfortable with his body, and so, it seems, is Derek.

“Maybe I should wear a t-shirt, try and stop myself from getting burned. But it probably won’t cover my whole belly.”

The pack is going on a beach trip tomorrow, but right now, Stiles is on Derek’s bed, sitting in Derek’s lap, taking huge mouthfuls of the curly fries Derek brought for him, while rocking himself back and forth against Derek’s increasingly interested dick. They’re still fully clothed, but they probably won’t be for long. Damn, Friday nights are great.

“You’re going to be lying in the sun, too big and too lazy to move. I’ll have to rub sunscreen all over your big, beautiful belly, and you’re have trouble trying not to moan with the pack around.”

Derek’s dirty talk is a little lame, but whatever, he’s trying.

“Not just the pack, everyone on the whole beach will see how fat I’ve gotten.”

“Hmmm.” Derek hums thoughtfully, “So they can all see how well looked after you are. How fat. And soft and gorgeous.” He grabs a handful of Stiles’ belly and lets out something of a guttural sigh. “But you’ll be warding off advances left, right and centre. And I don’t want to share.”

“You might have to, big guy, there’s a lot of me to go around.” Stiles says teasingly, wishing desperately that Derek really meant it.

“Am I not allowed to be possessive about my gorgeous boyfriend?”

Stiles flails so hard that 30 pounds ago, he probably would have fallen off the bed. “Boyfriend?!?”

“What?”

“Boyfriend! You just called me your boyfriend! I was not aware of this! I was not told I was your boyfriend.”

“But…oh.” Derek’s voice suddenly sounds impossibly small. “Sorry, I didn’t. I. I shouldn’t have. I. What term were you thinking of?”

“Never mind what I was thinking of, why did you not tell me we were boyfriends?!”

“I thought it was obvious. We see each other all the time. We kiss. We cuddle. We fuck. You know I’ve been interested in you for a long time and—”

“Wait, WHAT?!? You’re interested in me?!? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Stiles, what the hell do you think we’ve been doing for the past four months?”

“Having kinky feeder sex as _friends with benefits_!!! Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I…I thought we were dating.” Derek sounds genuinely distressed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. We can keep doing this though, right? As—” he swallows loudly “—fuckbuddies?”

“Nooooo sir, hold up a hot second! If ‘boyfriends’ is on the table, I am 230% up for that. All systems go, my body is ready, I…..yeah. Yes! All the yes. Let’s be boyfriends. Holy shit, Derek, you’re my _boyfriend_!! We can keep boning, and you can keep feeding me, and now I don’t even have to feel bad about how aggressively I was pining for you, oh my god. This is awesome.”

“Really?”

“Yes, oh my god, come here.” He wriggles around and grabs Derek’s face, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. His protruding belly is pressed right up against Derek’s rock-hard abs, and Derek lets out a contented sigh between kisses and grabs desperately at Stiles’ love handles through his shirt.

“Off. Take it off.” Derek is really demanding when he wants to be. It’s hot. Well, duh, everything Derek does is hot, but this is _particularly_ doing it for Stiles.

Stiles lifts his arms up, and Derek peels him out of his T-shirt, diving back in to suck at Stiles’ lower lip with enthusiasm once he’s thrown the shirt off into a dark corner.  Stiles moans at the sensation as Derek fumbles with the waistband of his sweats, sliding his hand down the back of them to grab at his ass. He lifts his hips up from the bed with difficulty, and Derek slides them off, eyes flashing suddenly red at the realisation that Stiles hasn’t bothered with underwear.

Stiles is panting slightly at the exertion (but also at the general incredible hotness of the situation). “There’s a…disparity—hnnnnnngg—of clothes. Yes. Clothes. Please. Take them off.”

“Eat while I undress?” Derek pushes the abandoned curly fries toward him.

“That’s a deal I can get behind.” He stuffs a mouthful in as Derek strips off his shirt, and holy shit, those abs never fail to be impressive. Derek’s not even trying to be sexy, shucking off clothes as quickly as possible, but he’s still the hottest thing Stiles has ever seen. He turns and rummages in a drawer for a second, pulling out a bottle of lube.

“Want to finish those fries while I stretch you?”

“Yes, oh my—oof!” Derek pushes him gently back, but Stiles’ weight makes him topple a little less elegantly than he would have liked onto the bed, so that he’s lying back against the pillows. He spreads his legs, and feels a gentle, wet pressure at his hole that makes him gasp as Derek runs a finger around it. One finger goes in, and _god_ , Stiles needs more of that immediately. He stuffs more fries in his mouth as Derek adds a second finger, scissoring them so that Stiles squirms. Stiles idly reaches for his dick with the hand that isn’t grabbing food, but Derek gently slaps his hand away and wraps his own hand around Stiles instead.

From there, it doesn’t take long to have him worked up to four fingers, and by the time Stiles has finished his fries, Derek is sliding into him, pressing his ridiculous abs into Stiles’ belly and gazing deep into his eyes as he begins to fuck him nice and slow. The pressure is overwhelming and perfect, but Derek’s face is even more so, as his eyes flit all around Stiles’ face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Soon, though, Stiles starts to keen, arching up into Derek and demanding _more, more, please_. Derek obliges him, breathing heavy and pupils blown, fucking him deep and strong, and, _god_ , hitting Stiles’ prostate on every other thrust.

“Oh- _god_. Derek!” Stiles is almost crying at the sensation, it’s so good. Derek’s cock is fat and hard inside him, and his own is trapped between his stomach and Derek’s, throbbing from the friction between them. He’s close.

“Derek, I..I’m going to…please.”

Derek ducks down and sucks a messy hickey on his neck, which also changes the angle, and _oh!!_ He comes all over his own belly as Derek continues to piston into him, jostling his fat, until a moment later, he comes too with a groan. He collapses on top of Stiles without pulling out, and huffs a contented sigh into Stiles’ neck.

“You’re perfect.” Derek look up through his eyelashes. “Just…perfect.”

“Ditto,” mumbles Stiles sleepily. “An’ I love you.”

Derek stills for a moment, then sighs contentedly again. “I know.”

“Lucky you wore m’ out, I’d puch y’ otherwise.” He pats Derek’s bicep. “Lat’r.”

Stiles falls asleep with Derek cuddling him even though they’re both covered in jizz. He swears he’s never felt more content in his life.

They almost stay home from the beach trip to just fuck and eat at home, but then Stiles mentions how much food and ice cream there will be, and Derek picks him up and bundles him out the door without another word.

The pack makes fun of them with ease, and Stiles can’t believe that literally the whole pack knew he and Derek were a thing before he did.

It's all kind of perfect.


End file.
